


Wishing Hard Enough

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Budding Love, Edwardian Period, First Love, M/M, Romance, WIP, rating is going up, sexual awakenings, underage in some countries (16)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Pan AU. Because of a fraught familial situation, coming back home from boarding school wasn't as much of a pleasure for Arthur as it was for other students, until, that was, he embarked on an awfully big adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> (i)Thanks to Deminos for the character analysis read-through of chapter 1.
> 
> (ii)This is going to be a fairy-tale for the holidays, posted in chapters.
> 
> (iii) Title take from this J. M. Barrie quote: _Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it._

London, 1905

The door to his father's study was massive, oaken and inlaid with carvings. Symbols covered the central panel and chased each other all around the edge. Dragons swooped, their claws out and their tails up, while little human-shaped figurines cowered at the bottom. Only one of these figures stood out, partly because he was proportionally bigger than the other motif characters, and partly because of the pose he was couched in. He was pictured standing, enormous palm held out, confronting the creature that loomed large over him, holding it at bay.

When Arthur was younger he'd been sacred of the carving. It depicted a monster, after all, albeit a mythical one. (Even at the ripe age of five, Arthur had known that dragons were a fantastical species.) And the monster seemed to be having the upper hand on mankind, menacing it. Huddled one on top of the other as they were, all the little human figures appeared very small and fragile, and the one depicted standing upright was unarmed. Unlike St George, the man in the relief had nothing but his body to protect him. That had frightened Arthur. Growing up though, his view had changed. He saw the larger figure as one worthy of admiration, a courageous hero like the knights of old, the ones who featured in Arthur's literature textbooks. It took a brave man to face a monster like that, with nothing but your bare hands. Thinking about such heroes gave Arthur great comfort.

Right about now, he wished he was one of them, a hero ready to mount his horse and spur it on the road to a quest. Instead, here he was, clutching at his report card as he grounded himself in preparation to knocking.

After one or two deep inhales, he raised his hand to do so but voices coming from inside stopped him.

“Morgana,” Father said, his voice higher than Arthur had ever heard it, “I forbid you to mention this to anyone, most particularly to either Miss Tregore or Arthur!”

“Why,” Morgana said, her retort quick and sharp like the lash of a whip, “because you think that if she knew Miss Tregore might rethink marrying you?”

“Morgana!” Father said, his tone expressing less of a warning and more of his thundering displeasure, “watch your tongue.”

“Or maybe you want me silent because that way you can better keep him under your thumb.”

“Morgana!” Father's voice was now like nails on a chalkboard, the high notes making it through the thick wooden partition standing between them and Arthur. “I won't stand for this any longer. One more word and you'll be severely punished.”

“You don't get to treat me like a father now,” Morgana said, her voice broken with the sound of tears.

“You are my ward and you'll do as I say.”

“So you persist!” Morgana yelled. “I have those letters. I know the truth. My mother was your lover. She wrote to you begging you to help her because she was pregnant!”

Arthur's hand fell from the glass door knob, nerveless. He didn't listen on, falling back a few steps, though if he'd paid attention he was sure he would have heard more they were so loud.

He blinked repeatedly; a shiver, almost like a chill, ran up his spine. The air was warm with the smell of summer however, so the temperature wasn't the cause of the tremor. He was positive his heart had stopped beating too, even if, of course, that couldn't be true or he would be dead. One idea and one idea only rattled in his brain and he couldn't stifle it however much he tried.

Morgana... Morgana was...

Arthur stared and as he stared the chain of flowers that friezed the door curled and grew. It was patently impossible, the workings of his fevered mind, yet Arthur could swear the flower frieze stretched and thinned only to bend and fatten again.

The moment Arthur took a step forward to verify by touching, the door flew open. Morgana rushed out, eyes fat and red with tears, her hand cupping her mouth. She didn't even see him and disappeared around the corridor without ever noticing he was there.

After a few moments had elapsed and he'd assured himself that Morgana wouldn't be coming back, Arthur swallowed and knocked on the door, which, in bouncing back, had nearly closed again.

“Who is it?” Father said, cross and stiff.

“It's me, sir,” Arthur said, hoping he'd mastered his voice enough to make it sound level, as though a riot of emotions wasn't running amok inside of him. “I've come to show you my...”

“Yes, yes, come in,” Father said.

Arthur stepped inside this room he knew so well. Dead centre was Father's desk, behind which Uther was standing. A little to the left a window opened onto the street, the early afternoon sun playing against the counterpane and tingeing everything golden. Two chairs faced Father's desk; both were stiff backed antiques with no armrests. When you sat in them you would be at pains to slouch. Those chairs didn't allow for comfort but required the sitter to perch stiffly on their edge, back held straight.

Bookcases full of Father's law books lined the walls and the only armchair present was occupied by piles of newspapers, ordered, Arthur knew, by date of publication.

As Father rearranged himself in his seat, Arthur marched up to his escritoire, his school report held in one hand, his arms lying stiffly at his side.

“So,” Father said, grabbing his spectacles, “I suppose that note you're clinging to is actually your report.”

“Yes, sir,” said Arthur, sticking his chin out. “I passed in all subjects.”

Father extended a hand and Arthur handed him his school report. “Let me have a look.”

“Yes, sir.”

Father put his reading glasses on and squinted at the page. “I see you could be stronger in Arithmetic.”

“Yes, Father.” Arthur acknowledged that he hadn't got top marks in Arithmetic and his performance when it came to Latin was less than outstanding, but he had otherwise done very well, he thought, achieving top marks in everything else. “But I--”

“Arthur,” Father said, stern but calm, “this will not do. You could do better in both Arithmetic and Latin. There is clearly something you have left undone. Admitting it is the first step towards acknowledging your mistakes.”

“But I'm the second best achieving student in my form,” Arthur said. He still had the rosette he had been given to commemorate the fact. “Only Geraint Montgomery did better.”

“Don't pride yourself on an achievement that was easily topped by someone else.” Father tapped the school report, the paper caving under his touch.

Arthur felt words welling inside him but he stopped himself from saying them. Fists balled, he nodded his head. “Yes, Father.”

Father hummed. “I'm glad to see you agree.”

“I do, Father," Arthur said, even though he wasn't completely swayed and was still a little proud of his marks. “Of course.”

“Then you'll see the need for me to hire you a tutor for the summer,” Father said, taking off his glasses, folding them, and laying them on the desktop. “So that you can improve in those areas that can use some work.”

Arthur's facial muscles twitched. “But, Father,” Arthur said, indignation battling with the need to behave like a proper son, “I promised my chum Bors I'd spend part of the summer with him.”

“You'll have to cancel, clearly,” Father said curtly, as if he wasn't depriving Arthur of the one event he'd been looking forward to the most all term long. “Your education has the priority.”

Arthur burst out with the words, “But, Father, this is not fair!”

“Arthur, you're sixteen, you should have the maturity to see that sometimes we must sacrifice our happiness in order to do our duty.” 

“Not necessarily.” A perfect solution presented itself to Arthur. “I can take my books with me, revise at Bors', just as I would at home.”

“You know you wouldn't,” Father said, lips pinched. “I'm sure you'd even go to the effort of packing your books, but once you were with you're friend you'd forget about them.”

“But I wouldn't--”

“Enough, Arthur,” Father said, clearly not brooking any further objection. “You won't go and that's my last word on it.”

Arthur bit on his tongue. If Father put it like that there was nothing Arthur could do to bring him round.

His father must have guessed Arthur's unhappiness with his decision because he continued, “Think about it, Arthur. It's Arithmetic now, but it will be Cambridge one day. How do you think you can succeed there and become as good a lawyer as the family business requires if you can't deal with Maths now?”

Arthur had no answer to that. He knew he had to go to Cambridge like his father had before him but he never really thought about that. It was something that would happen in a future he couldn't project himself in yet. He couldn't imagine how it would be like, so it didn't seem to be such a huge concern now.“You are right, Father,” he said, knowing it was what was expected of him. “I'll apply myself more from now on.”

Father handed him back his report. “Very good, Arthur, that's the kind of attitude I want to see from you.”

Arthur grabbed the paper handed to him, crumpling it along the seam. “I'll keep it up.”

“Good,” Father said, bending over to rifle a drawer, “you are dismissed.”

Glad the ordeal was over, Arthur backed towards the door.

“And, Arthur,” Father said, still rummaging inside the drawer and thus not looking Arthur in the eye. “You understand why it's important to me that you do well, don't you?”

Arthur's thoughts lingered on that question before he answered. “Yes, of course. Performance matters.”

“You're slated to succeed me, Arthur,” Father said, slamming the drawer shut without taking anything from it. “It's because you're my son.”

Arthur's mouth dried. “I see, Father,” he said though he was sure there was a lot he couldn't fathom anymore.

“Good, that's good.” Father shooed him off with a lazy hand. “You can go now. And seeing as you've just returned from St Dominics, you'll have the afternoon free.”

“Thank you, sir,” Arthur said, then hurried off so his father couldn't rethink his promise.

Once Arthur was at loose ends, he didn't quite know what to do with himself. He was aware of having practical things to do, like writing a letter to Bors to say he wouldn't be visiting him and checking up on Morgana, but he was itching to do something that bore no relation to duty. He needed to do something that would give him some measure of relief, something that didn't need doing but that he wanted to indulge in. His muscles spasmed with the need to be tested. His body was on edge, keen to be used in some mindless activity. His clothes were stifling him, his tie especially was choking him. With shaky hands, he loosened it together with his shirt and then undid the buttons of his jacket. He hung the latter in the hall. There was something else he had to rid himself of too. He left his school report lying on the sideboard under the mirror.

Now free, he opened the door and left the house.

Instead of slipping to the back of the garden, he made it to the street. Chomping at the bit, he took the road at a run, cresting the rise that gave onto a perpendicular thoroughfare. People staring at him as he pushed up the incline, he sped towards the park, sidestepping when a lady cut into his path, and apologising profusely when he bumped into a heavyset gentleman's very muscled, very solid chest.

“Hey young man!” the gentleman called after him. “Learn some manners, will you?”

Ordinarily, Arthur would have apologised but today he felt contrary enough not to. He was sure he'd feel horrible about it later but he didn't want to think about his shortcomings right now. Without apologising, Arthur ploughed on, pumping his legs at top speed. Muscles burning a little, breathing so fast it made his chest feel lumpy, Arthur made it to the park. At its gates he doubled over, drinking in lungful of airs. For the first minute or so breathing felt like being stabbed in the chest, but little by little he recovered.

Once his intakes of breath started following a more normal rhythm, Arthur took to wandering the park. Unlike the last time he'd been here, flowers were in full bloom, their colours brilliant and even garish, some of their buds drooping because of the excess heat. Others though were still standing valiantly upright, their stems as erect as little soldiers, their leaves shaped like confetti that appeared to be glued together with pearly dew. In a flower bed that coasted one of the narrowest paths tiny black flowers formed like windmills grew.

Other plant constellations dotted the little avenues of trees, making the ground shine green, ochre and with a thousand other colours.

Hot about the face, Arthur ambled over to a bench, one that sat against the plinth of a marble statue. The statue represented a boy. Arthur had always thought the subject was a young, lithe shepherd. Sitting closer to it now, he recognised that that wasn't the case. 

The boy wore some sort of sylvan outfit, but it wasn't necessarily that of a shepherd. His loose tunic and hose looked like those of a peasant, yes, but now that Arthur could study it better he didn't think the garb was symbolic of any special profession. The statue boy was screening his face, staring into the distance, his other hand reaching out for the sky. (Well, it would be if a pigeon wasn't sitting on it, cooing and preening its feathers.) The symbolism of image, the implication of flying free, made Arthur's soul feel somehow lighter. It also made him wish he too could look to the sky.

There were a few tiny oddities about the sculpture as well. It was fairly old, in style as well as years (it had been there ever since Arthur could remember), but it wasn't as weather-worn as the other statues strewn around the park were. In the glare of the sun, the statue's eyes also seemed to glow gold.

These distinctive features appealed to Arthur, made him like the art-work.

His muscles pulling, Arthur sat down to rest a while in its shade. Everything felt calmer here, more peaceful, as if nothing could possibly go wrong. Arthur briefly wondered if this same bench would be positioned here a hundred years from now, sitting before the same statue, a similar sun shining on it, the air as still as it was now. Would there be a boy lounging on it in future, someone a little like him? It would be neat if there would be. Arthur was sure it wouldn't be a descendant of his, thoughts of children of his own being quite weighty for him, but he still believed he could sympathise for that future boy, however unrelated to him he chanced to be. The whole idea of future generations seeking harbour in the same place he was lulled him into a sense of tranquillity. His chest expanded and his breathing decreased to an easy rhythm. He was no longer hot. A thread of a breeze played in his hair and kissed his fingertips.

Content to be basking there almost alone in this solitary corner, Arthur studied his surroundings. Ants were trailing in double fine along the brick hedge of the opposite flower bed. They were getting ready for work, rubbing and sunning their limbs, transporting twigs and seeds. A squirrel threaded its way between trees, poking its head out from time to time, an acorn between its paws.

The little animal played this game five or six times, to the point Arthur thought it was yanking his chain, looking to be noticed by him. At last, though, the squirrel climbed up a tree, paws scraping along the surface of a knotty one, whose bark was covered in thick reddish moss. It disappeared into a hole that opened a few metres shy of the canopy of branches.

“Hope you have a good meal,” Arthur said, before his eyelids fluttered shut and his limbs became heavier, his vision narrowing and narrowing until he was seeing nothing but dream images, the statue's eyes the last beacon of shining light he saw.

It was the rising wind that woke him. The sun had gone down and the temperature had dropped with it. When he realised how much time must have passed for that to have happened, he blinked, shook himself off, and then jumped up. 

He was going to be late for dinner!

Retreading the roads he'd taken before but in the inverse direction, Arthur rushed home.

When he cleared the hallway of his house, the clock struck half past seven. This meant Arthur had a quarter of an hour left to wash and change for dinner. Or be late and displease his father once more.

Wanting to avoid Father's condemnation, he dashed up the stairs, grabbing the banister so as not to trip. When he flung the door of his room open, it was to find Morgana there. She was sitting on his bed wringing her hands, the framed photo of Arthur's mother that usually sat on the night-stand shattered at her feet.

“Morgana!” Arthur shouted, his blood running cold at the sight. “You clumsy oaf, why did you do that!”

Morgana looked up. Dark circles ringed her wet eyes. They sparked with a kind of rage Arthur had never seen in them. “Because I wanted to hurt you,” she said drily.

Arthur recoiled but didn't say anything. He knew that if he did, he'd blurt out something completely unforgivable. He'd better concentrate on salvaging Mother's photo.

To pick up the shards of glass, Arthur went to his knees, soon understanding there was no saving the frame. The moulding had come apart at the corner. Thankfully, the photo itself wasn't much damaged, aside from a section in the corner. What mattered was that Arthur's mother was still smiling at him from dead centre. “Why would you?” Arthur asked, at a loss for an explanation, ignoring the sting of the glass as it cut into the fleshy part of his thumb. “We're friends.”

“No, we're not,” said Morgana, stiffly standing up, the ruffles of her ladylike dress playing at against the skin of her throat. At odds with the delicacy of the lace-work that adorned her gown, her fists were clenched. “And I wanted Uther's golden boy to suffer.”

“Morgana,” Arthur said, looking up at her, the breath caught in his lungs. “I--”

“Why was she more special?” Morgana nodded at Ygraine's picture. “Why was she more worthy of respect?”

Arthur felt very small. As though he wasn't nearly an adult, but back to being a child. Perhaps this was because he didn't have the least idea as to how to answer her questions. He couldn't begin to understand her or find a way to soothe her through her rage and his disappointment. “Morgana--”

But Morgana didn't stay and listen. Dabbing at her eyes, she set off at a run.

Dinner that night was stiff and awkward. Morgana, his father announced, had made it known she was unwell and would not be attending. This left Arthur and his father sitting at opposite ends of too large a table.

Conversation was stilted to say the least. The ghost of things left unsaid hovered between them. Arthur wanted to ask about Morgana, why she'd suddenly taken ill, why she'd said what she had in his father's study. He wanted to probe what it meant, the implications. He thought he'd guessed right, but there was room for doubt. Yet he knew he couldn't interrogate his father. For one that would amount to admitting to eavesdropping, for another his father looked thunderous and Arthur knew not to enrage him further by posing questions.

So Arthur found himself answering his father's own queries about his last term at school, the friends he'd made, and the plans he had for the near future. Arthur had never thought such planning so futile. When Father proposed he study with Gaius over the summer, Arthur accepted. At the end of the day Gaius was, as a friend of the family, a known quantity and though he was as boring and prolix, he wasn't a bad sort.

Though he would have rather spent the summer months at Bors', Arthur didn't dislike Gaius. “I'll be glad to have him.”

Course followed course. The silence broken only by the sound of the cutlery against the china plates and an occasional tinkle of the crystal glasses arrayed on the table. Dessert went untouched on both sides. At last Father rang for port.

Arthur was toying with the napkin spread on his knees when Father told the butler, “Bring two glasses. I think Arthur is old enough now to get a little measure of Port.”

It wasn't the first time Arthur had tasted alcohol; his schoolmate, Harry Lamorak, had once sneaked a bottle of whiskey into their dormitory. Needless to say, none of the students had made it in time for the first lesson the following morning. Arthur, however, wasn't about to share that with his father. So when the footman poured a scanty measure in his glass, Arthur kept carefully mum. “Thank you,” George, he said, and gulped the contents of the glass down. It was sweet but it had a sting to it that made his face heat.

Probably because of the wine, Arthur found his tongue again. “Father, why is Morgana ill?”

“A summer chill,” Father said, methodically sipping at his Port.

“She came into my room earlier,” Arthur said, choosing his words as carefully as he would choose his next move in a chess game. “She didn't look like she was ill. She seemed... upset.”

Uther put his glass down with a thump muffled by the tablecloth, a ruby drop spilling and staining the fabric. The stain came in the shape of a tear. “You know how young ladies are, Arthur, volatile. It shouldn't affect you.”

Arthur didn't believe father's words explained Morgana's behaviour. Though Arthur had teased Morgana for being a girl when they were younger, he had mostly done it because it got a rise out of her. He had never thought Morgana was like other girls and most girls weren't as flighty as Father made them out to be. Most weren't flighty at all. “That's not it, either. Father, if there's--”

Father slapped his hand flat on the table. “Enough, Arthur, you're speaking out of turn. I see that giving you wine was a bad idea. Now go to sleep if you don't want me to discipline you.”

Arthur wanted to fight but the wine had made him a little sluggish and on second thoughts he didn't really want to alienate his father. He'd love to be able to find a solution that made everyone happy -- himself, Father and Morgana -- but the truth of it was that he didn't have the power to do this.

Dismissing him as a child as he always did, Father would never trust his judgement. The sad part about it was that Arthur wasn't a kid anymore, he was a man. And Morgana just hated him apparently. And his mother. Given how his family saw him, he wasn't in a position to mediate. In a bid not to spark a vicious quarrel that got him grounded forever and ever, Arthur nodded his head and said, “Good night, Father.”

Once he was back in his room, Arthur gingerly placed his mother's photo, now free of its frame, in his desk drawer, a-top a length of velvet. He smiled at his mother's image before gently closing the receptacle. Having secured this item, he changed into his pyjamas. His clothes had felt stiff for hours, so turning in for the night seemed like a liberating prospect. Even so, he went slowly about shedding jacket and bowtie, partly because he still felt a little groggy, and partly because he knew there was no need to hurry. Instead, Arthur took his time selecting a book to read and only when he'd landed upon one he liked, Don Quixote

If the sound of wheels trundling along the cobblestones was enough to go by, Father was probably heading out to go to the club anyway, a habit that he didn't generally maintain when he and Morgana were at home, but one that he resorted to when something made him upset.

His absence meant that Father wouldn't be checking Arthur's room for lights out, a positive variant from the St Dominics' routine. So Arthur wasn't even in his nightclothes when he launched himself at his bed, but rather wearing his day trousers and an old undershirt he used to sleep in.

He was well into the first chapter of his book, the blankets pushed off, the oil lamp throwing a wavering glow over the page when the window flew open, the curtains dancing in the breeze.


	2. Merlin

The curtains danced on the breeze, a shaft of moonlight intersecting the room when they did.

Arthur closed the book and blinked. 

Like sails, the curtains filled, blowing inwards once again. 

That wouldn't do. All that fluttering would wake Arthur in the middle of the night if he didn't do something about it. Though Arthur wasn't sleeping now he would be in a while. That casement needed shutting. With this in mind, Arthur cast his blankets aside and slipped out of bed. He was halfway over to window, when a shadow appeared on the sill.

“What sort of huge and deformed night-owl are you?” Arthur asked, as he approached the new apparition, which was still almost completely shaded by veils of fabric.

With a swish, the curtains parted and a boy Arthur's age, only much slimmer, jumped off the sill. He had a familiar air about him. He had dark hair, an angular face, and eyes the colour of the sky in winter. Those eyes shone with a light Arthur couldn't explain. It was mischievous, as though the owner knew something others didn't, but also soft. It was open and trusting, thus inspiring no sense of threat. Arthur felt rather more moved to find out who the midnight invader was than to call for the police. In fact, if he'd had to go by the young man's overly large smile and beaddled look, Arthur would have called the boy dim-witted and thus no danger to anyone. Briefly Arthur even wondered if the young man was an escaped lunatic, for no sane person would blithely go about wearing clothes like that.

They were extremely rough and home-spun looking. Their colours a vibrant blue that seemed a bit too much even for evening wear, and a distinctively ugly muddish brown. If that wasn't enough the boy's garments were out of any fashion Arthur had ever clapped eyes on. They looked costumish, something a pantomime actor would don while engaging in street theatre.

If the boy's attire didn't suggest he was a very odd person; his nightly visit most certainly did. Calling hours were long past.

“Oi,” the boy said, his lips curving downward, “I'm not a bird. Well, I'm only one in name.”

The idea the boy was stupid solidified in Arthur's mind. “You're making no sense!”

“No, well, I swear it does make sense,” the boy said, waving his hands about. When he realised Arthur had no idea what he was talking about, the boy bowed and added, “See, my name's Merlin.”

“That's not a name!” Arthur scoffed. “And you, bird boy, are trespassing. I should call the police.”

Merlin paled a little, then the paleness left his cheeks and an outraged blush spread across them. “What, no! I am most certainly not a trespasser.” Merlin stuck his chest out. "I answered your summons.”

Arthur spluttered. “You must really be a dimwit because I did no such thing.”

“Oh but you did, Arthur,” Merlin said, his hands going to his hips. “I heard you.”

“No,” Arthur said. Arthur wasn't so far gone as to have forgotten having done such such a thing as calling on this boy. At no point in time had he ever summoned him. Nor had he ever told him his name for that matter. “I most certainly didn't. I was in bed reading--”

Merlin cut him short. “I'm sure you were.”

“And then you barged in.”

“Not exactly.”

Arthur puffed his cheeks. “Oh, believe me, you did.”

Without addressing Arthur's accusation any further, Merlin bounded over to Arthur's bed. First he tried the springs with his hand, then, releasing a pleased sound, he made himself comfortable on Arthur's bed. Arms cradling his head, feet crossed at the ankle, he just lay there, as if the piece of furniture was his. “I understand why you were reading in bed now. This bed is very comfortable.” Merlin wriggled his bottom. “Perhaps a bit too much. It's bound to make you lazy.”

“I'm not lazy,” Arthur said, the objection falling off his tongue without him having given much thought as to how to couch it. The way he'd expressed it wasn't reasoned out at all, but rather sounded like the whining of a child. Arthur could do better. “I'm a very proficient student, never idle bed and I'm the best of my whole school at physical education.” This was a more solid foundation for a rebuttal. He was on a roll now. “I run quick and I--”

“That still doesn't mean much,” Merlin said, “this bed is fit for a princess. Bound to spoil you.”

Arthur frowned. “What sort of bed do you sleep on if you think mine's all that?” Arthur's bed was ample and comfortable. He had a few layers of fluffy blankets at his disposal and soft down pillows that puffed out at the sides when you laid your head down on them. But Uther had always been adamant about not indulging Arthur. “It's hardly decadent.”

“Um, I don't have a bed,” Merlin said, sitting up in Arthur's. “I have a bedroll.”

“What sort of place do you come from?” Arthur asked before feeling heat stinging his face. “I mean I know there is no shame in being poor.”

“I'm not poor,” Merlin said. “I don't think I am. I live in a perfectly nice cave...”

“Cave?” Now that made it sound like Merlin was either dirt poor or actually the madman Arthur had initially suspected him of being.

“And can conjure clothes and food of all sorts with my magic,” Merlin said with a proud look on his face. “Whenever I want--”

“Magic?” Arthur squeaked. Perhaps this Merlin boy was truly mad; no, definitely he was. First impressions ought to be trusted. Arthur had been a fool for dismissing his initial surmise so quickly. “You must have hit your head hard. There is no such thing as magic.”

“There is!” Merlin said, sounding for all the world like Morgana when she was ten, whiny.

“No, there isn't,” Arthur said. He had plenty of books that contradicted Merlin's belief. “Science proved it a long time a go.”

Merlin laughed, long and hard, not exactly derisively, but as though he couldn't believe Arthur's stupidity. 

Arthur was deeply discountenanced by that laughter. It was all sorts of wrong, especially since Arthur knew he was right. “I can show you my school books. They'll support what I'm saying.”

Merlin blew air through his mouth. “You're really persistent with your ignorance.” His eyes glowed gold. “Magic exists. It's as real as you and me.”

Arthur, who'd been on his ways to the bookshelf to get the back up for his theory about the absurdity of magic, stopped in his tracks. For a long moment he could do nothing. He couldn't think, he couldn't move, and he could hardly breathe. “Do that again!”

“What?” Merlin asked, biting his lower lip as though he wanted to prevent a smile from escaping him.

“Your eyes,” Arthur said, aware of being less than coherent. “They went gold. I'm sure.”

“Oh that,” Merlin said, lifting his hand and swiping it across the air. At his command all the objects on Arthur's desk started floating. His pen, inkwell, and lamp danced a merry dance, half a metre off the surface of his desk. “It happens every time I do magic.”

“I must have taken ill,” Arthur said, feeling his forehead for a temperature. “Or maybe I actually fell asleep.”

Merlin charmed the objects back into place. “I'm pretty sure you're wide awake.”

Arthur felt awake but there was no way what he'd just seen made sense, was real. “I've lost all sense of reason then.”

“Oh no,” Merlin said, jumping off the bed and coming to stand in front of him. “You're mighty fine. I'm just a magical boy, from very far away.”

Visualising a map of the world, Arthur tried to think of a place distant enough that tales of magic would never have made it to England. While there certainly were a few areas still left unexplored, such a thought seemed to be far-fetched. “A place like that can't possibly exist. We'd have heard of it.”

“Yet, it does exist,” Merlin told him in an impassioned tone. “Just because you haven't heard of it, it doesn't mean it isn't real.”

“But, but, but,” Arthur said, his objections sounding fully disjointed.

Putting a placating hand on Arthur's shoulder, Merlin lead him to the window. A full moon shone in the sky, wisps of clouds barely drfting past, the night was so clear. “You can't find my home on a map because it's a place of magic. It isn't a place for people who wouldn't believe in it, or accept it in their hearts. It was created to be that way. Only to be found by those who can embrace magic.”

Arthur could admit he was a little bit intrigued. “All right, explain how that is possible.”

Merlin sighed at the moon. “I can't _explain_.”

“Describe this place then,” Arthur said, and if his words sounded like an order that was because he really wanted to understand what was going on and not because he was rude, not most of the time. He had learnt good manners at a pretty young age. It was just hard to abide by them when he was itching to know.

With a sigh that wasn't really impatient but rather long-suffering, Merlin sat in the window alcove, leaving some place for Arthur to sit too. 

Without hesitation Arthur took his place next to his guest. Arms circling them, he raked his knees up and settled in to listen.

Merlin started telling him tales of his home. “The place I come from is called Draakland. It's very different from here. There magic lives in the earth and in the air. Not everybody has it, mind you. Some people just come to stay because they like it. But lovely things are possible there.”

“Like what?” Arthur asked, wondering at limits Merlin's magic had,

“Well, I can stop time, make the earth shake.” Merlin's mouth twisted when Arthur frowned. “Don't worry I never do that, not on a whim. I just know I can.”

“Okay, so you don't wreak havoc upon your land,” Arthur said. “But what more can you do?”

“I can conjure pretty much anything you want,” Merlin said with an inviting smile. “Fruit and sweets and all kinds of treats. I can navigate Draakland blind. I can do pretty much anything you want me to.”

Arthur thought that sounded lovely. “Oh, that seems rather interesting,” he said instead to sound cool about the way he expressed his approval.

“Oh, yes it is,” Merlin breathed out, almost tangibly excited himself. “It's a place where magic is free, free from all compunction, all fetters, from any hate.”

“But you did magic right here before my very eyes,” Arthur said, after having remembered what had just happened. “So your magic isn't place specific. You could live here and do the same.”

Merlin pouted, lines wrinkling his forehead. “Draakland is still very special. It's the land of dragons.”

“Now that sounds dangerous.” Most legends Arthur had heard of didn't portray benign dragons and neither did literature, for the most part. Even the creatures carved on the door to Father's study looked aggressive. “Such big savage animals...”

“Well, actually there's only one dragon in Draakland and he's old,” Merlin said, now launched in narrative mode. “But he obeys me,” he added fondly. “So there's no danger.”

“So you're telling me that Dragons are nearly extinct over there?”

“Well, it's a little bit more complicated than that. There's legends.”

“Legends about fierce creatures that spit fire?” Arthur asked, just to be sure. Draakland's lore sounded unusual.

“Yes.” Merlin grinned brightly. “And they're all beautiful and touching. My dragon knows all of them.”

Arthur had a feeling Merlin was talking Draakland up but didn't say so. Instead he poked holes in the idea that Draakland's charms were immense, not so much because he didn't believe in them, but because Merlin seemed to be taking any criticism to heart, and Arthur found he liked yanking his chain. “So being old this dragon of yours can't do any fun things?”

“My dragon might be thousands of years old and a bit of a cryptic arse, but he can fly.”

“Fly?” Arthur said. His thoughts went to his readings. Arthur knew about the attempts of the Wright brothers at piloting steam- powered machines and gliders. He loved the idea of it but was aware of the limits of those contraptions, of science. “Proper flying?”

“Yes, of course,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. “How could flying be improper?”

“Silly,” Arthur said, bumping Merlin's knee with his foot. “That's not what I meant.”

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. “Then what did you mean?”

“I want to know how long your dragon can fly.”

“As long as he wants,” Merlin said thoughtfully, clearly weighing both the question and his answer. “Hours and more. He'll land for feeding but he can otherwise fly round and round for however long you wish.”

“That must be something to watch.”

Merlin laughed. “Not just watch. You can ride him.”

“You can?” Arthur's voice rose with the question. When he realised how high his pitch was, Arthur cleared his throat. In more sober tones, he added, “You're not lying to seem more daring and interesting, are you?”

“Why would I lie?” Merlin's eyes narrowed with displeasure at the accusation.

Arthur shrugged. As nonchalantly as he could – for it would not do to have Merlin think he was overly excited – Arthur asked, “What's it like, flying?”

“Wind in your hair, the world at your feet.” Merlin grinned, his cheeks getting dimples. “It's magic.”

“I bet,” Arthur said, and if longing seeped into his tone, he didn't care. He was allowed to express his sense of wonder at Merlin's words, most particularly upon considering how remarkable Merlin's tale was. 

“He'll give you a ride, if you want,” Merlin offered, his shoulders now flung fully back. “I can command him.”

“But for that to happen we would have to go to Draakland?” Arthur didn't think dragons were often seen in England or word would have spread.

Merlin's grin, which had been ever present since they started discussing flying and dragons, widened. “Well, Kilgharrah generally tends to stick to Draakland. Over here people don't take kindly to dragons.”

Arthur's face fell. “Then I suppose I won't be able to ride one. I can't leave the house in the middle of the night. And as for the summer.” Arthur winced. “I'm supposed to stay in London and study with my tutor.”

Merlin made a face too, as though he didn't enjoy the thought of studying either, which Arthur fully understood. His happy expression soon made a return though. “You don't leave to leave the house for more than a minute though.”

“That sounds like the shortest flight ever,” Arthur said, not concealing his disappointment. “You could do better in a balloon, very easily.”

“Now who's being stupid?” Merlin said, his eyes crinkling with good humour. Why he found pointing Arthur's failings out fun, Arthur didn't get. “Draakland is a magic place. Time isn't time.”

“That's not po--” Arthur stopped himself. He'd seen Merlin levitate objects and his eyes glow like fire. There was little at this point that seemed truly impossible. “I don't understand.”

“In Draakland time doesn't fly by as it does here,” Merlin explained, as though this altered idea of time was easy to accept. “Time is...” He stopped talking for a moment, ducked his head. “It's irrelevant.”

“But it isn't over here,” Arthur said. Draakland didn't work like England. And Arthur was unfortunately rather stuck there.

“I can cast a spell over the city,” Merlin said, worrying at his lip. “So that time will slow here too.”

Arthur's brain went into overdrive. “So that means...”

“So that means you could fly across the land and breadth of Draakland, meet my friends and have tea in my cave and no more than a minute would have passed here. Not even that perhaps,” Merlin said, counting with his fingers. “I swear.”

Arthur felt tempted. It was just a minute. His Father wasn't home and not likely to come back in the next five minutes. Morgana was most probably skulking in her room, busy hating him. And even if he was a little late and Father noticed his absence, Arthur didn't care, or rather he feared his father's anger much less now that he had something truly special to look forward to and a companion to do things with. But this morning this was was an adventure Arthur could only have dreamed of. “Mmm, if you put it like that, that means I can't pass,” he said.

Merlin shot upright. “Does this mean you're coming?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said as though the notion pained him greatly, though to be honest, it didn't. He shook with the need to see the place Merlin talked so highly of. “I'm more than ready for a midnight adventure.”

Hopping on the sill, Merlin reached a hand out to him. “Then come with me.”


	3. Towards the Sky

“You must be crazy!” Arthur said, incrementally backing away. The window was open and Merlin was standing on the sill, completely unconcerned with the fact that they were on the second floor. “That's suicidal.”

Merlin reached a hand out to him. “Trust me.”

Arthur shouldn't have trusted Merlin in the least, he knew that. A fall from the height they were at could break bones, or kill. But the way Merlin's eyes shone and his lips gentled into the easiest little smile made Arthur believe in him. It was probably irrational, but Arthur gave Merlin his hand and stepped onto the sill. 

The sensation was heady. His stomach somersaulted when he saw just how far away the ground was. (Knowing it was one thing, seeing it quite another.) “So we just--” Arthur asked for clarification as to what was to happen because it seemed highly needed. 

Merlin, though, didn't answer him. He threw his head back and a big roar left his chest. “Drakooon.”

The rest of the words that issued from Merlin's mouth sounded like complete gibberish to Arthur. They were made up of harsh gutturals and clipped consonants. 

When Merlin stopped thundering out this wild call of his, the air stilled. The breeze died and all sounds hushed. It was as if the atmosphere had been sucked into a void where sound didn't carry. Arthur was even a little afraid to breathe.

When the stillness was absolute and the night at its darkest a black dot appeared on the horizon. Arthur narrowed his eyes to concentrate on the new apparition, thinking it either a blur reflected off the moon, or a big bird. But the moment he focused, he realised he was dead wrong. As the figure became more and more defined, this was confirmed.

Arthur was looking at a living creature, with a huge reptilian head, a long tail, and sharp claws. Its body was covered in what looked like a thick carapace. When he connected the dots, Arthur almost fell back, off the sill and into the room again. Some wind-milling gave him back his balance .“That's a...” There was no room for doubt anymore. The big animal flying towards them resembled the beast from the carving on Father's study door too closely for there to be any. “That's a bloody dragon.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, steadying Arthur. “That's my old friend Kilgharrah.”

By the time Merlin had finished speaking, Kilgharrah had landed in the back garden. The house shook, the rose bush was flattened, and a few lights in the neighbourhood went on. “Oh my god,” Arthur said, eyes widening in alarm. “I mean... Kilgharrah is...”

“A dragon from the very first dragon dynasty, yes,” Merlin said smugly. Turning to the big creature he added, “Kilgharrah, say hello to my friend Arthur”

The way Merlin said Arthur's name was one Arthur liked, all smooth sounds and velvety vowels.

The dragon seemed less content and thumped his tail the way people fidgte with annyoance. “My wayward dragonlord, I was napping on the highest cliff in Draakland when you called.”

“Yes, sorry for waking you,” Merlin said, both sheepish and a bit impish. “But today's a special day.” Merlin squeezed Arthur's hand, the increased pressure oddly pleasant. “Today we're introducing Arthur to Draakland, showing him the highlights.”

“Couldn't it have waited till after my nap?” Kilgharrah said with a little sigh of annoyance.

Having been taught manners at a young age, Arthur stepped into the discussion, saying, “If it's a bother...”

“Nonsense,” Merlin said, leaning closer to Arthur, as if to side with him. “Kilgharrah just likes to complain. He can sleep at any time and it's not as if he's got anything better to do.”

“That is not true,” Kilgharrah said, his elongated pupils narrowing with displeasure . “But since you seem to have made a new friend, I'll make an exception and take the both of you out for a spin.”

“How kind,” Merlin says, casting his eyes to the heavens. “One would almost think I wasn't your kin, old friend.”

The dragon scoffed the way grumpy old men do. Arthur almost wanted to laugh at the resemblance. It seemed highly comical to him. He had no time to comment and share the reasons of his mirth with Merlin because his new friend mumbled more of his garbled language and Arthur found himself on the dragon's back.

With a bit of trepidation, hands sweaty where his palms grazed scaly skin, Arthur said, “I gather we're going to fl--”

Before Arthur could even finish the word the dragon had pushed off his hind legs, spread his wings and taken off. The more the dragon flapped his mighty appendages, the further away from the ground they got. 

Arthur's home, generally looking solid and imposing from up close, appeared more and more like a doll's house. It did so until it disappeared from view. 

The lights of London themselves twinkled like little stars winking up at them, their glow advertising the presence of dwellings and life within. But not every edifice and landmark glowed with the glow of lamps and fireplaces, or even the reverberation the moon afforded.

The Dome of St Paul's shone grey in the moonlight and the Thames threaded through the city like a slab of black marble. From the height they were at the shadows of buildings seemed to have acquired a consistency of their own, like impenetrable sheaths.

Their bulk however appeared extremely reduced, as if the largest edifices were nothing but miniatures, to be blown over with a breath. A toy realm seemed to spread at Arthur's feet.

Arthur could hardly believe that was his birthplace. It seemed so unreal.

He himself didn't feel tiny and puny anymore. He could almost believe that his outspread arms could encompass the whole city. It was a dazzling thought.

He sat taller.

As Kilgharrah climbed up ahead, its tail missing the spire of Big Ben by just a smidge, Arthur whooped with joy. That had been both a close call and the most hilarious near miss Arthur had heard of. That... that was a story to be shared and an experience to be treasured.

“Kilgharrah's showing off,” Merlin said in Arthur's ear, his arms wrapped around Arthur, not too tight but lending him warmth all the same. 

“He can continue doing so,” said Arthur, his blood rushing fast in his veins, his stomach falling a bit from under him but in a way that wasn't exactly unpleasant. “This is magnificent.”

Kilgharrah said, “As you wish, young master Arthur,” and with a powerful thrust of his wings he surged higher, so high Arthur thought he could touch the moon. The move was so swift though, Arthur clung to Kilgharrah's back for dear life, his nails sinking into the shell of the dragon's hardened skin.

“That itches,” Kilgharrah said humourlessly.

“He won't let you fall...” Merlin said when he noticed what Arthur had done, his voice tinged with both laughter and something like fondness, “but if he did, I would save you.”

“Why, thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said, not too happy about the notion of having to be saved. It didn't tally with all the notions of self-reliance he harboured. “But I don't think you would need to. If something like that happened, I'd be saving myself.”

“Of course,” Merlin said, amusement in his voice.

Arthur would have told Merlin he need't sound so diverted, hadn't he been too busy staring into the moon, which came up close incredibly fast. He was sure he could reach out and touch it.

They were planing over the clouds when Arthur lost sight of earth completely. At the same time his body tingled all over, warming from the inside out, as if a fire was burning within him. He gasped and braced himself.

“Surrender yourself to the magic, Arthur,” Merlin said, low and gentle, his hand landing on top of Arthur's, a solid reminder Arthur wasn't alone in this adventure.

Without questioning Merlin's wisdom, Arthur did as he was told. He closed his eyes and let the tingling take over. It bloomed like a flower within him, quickening his heartbeat while soothing his soul. He let the sensation spear him through, flesh, bone and marrow, until there wasn't a part of him that wasn't overwhelmed by it. 

Everything stopped but that sensation. 

Then the wind battered his body again and the spell broke. Arthur lay flat on Kilgharrah's back, his hands grabbing the ridge of a protruding scale. The moment the dragon swooped, Arthur screwed his eyes shut and clung even more tightly, trying not to be unseated by the rollicking motion. 

“Open your eyes,” Merlin murmured in his ear, even if Arthur had no idea how he'd managed to notice that Arthur had indeed closed his eyes.

Although his stomach was reeling, Arthur did as Merlin bid. A rolling landscape rose and fell before his eyes. Some of it was fields while part of it was covered in thick, luxurious forests the like of which Arthur had never seen in England. To the east, a lake spread out like a mirror, not a gust of wind stirring its burnished waters.

“That's Freya's lake,” Merlin said, acting as tour guide.

“Who's Freya?” Arthur asked, wondering how a person could own a whole lake.

“Freya's a friend,” Merlin said. “She's a creature of magic and the guardian spirit of the lake.”

A little stab-like pain pierced Arthur's heart. “You sound very fond of her.”

“Oh, because I am,” Merlin said, his breath hot on Arthur's neck. “She's my dear friend.”

“I see.” Arthur fell silent, keeping all the new sensations that were welling within him to himself.

As this happened, the scenery changed. They flew over patches of barren land, shadows creeping over their expanse. Strange animals, now visibly as they flew lower, seemed to lurk were they were at its most impenetrable. Centre stage sat a tall tower. “What's that?” Arthur asked, pointing to its bulk.

“Ashkenar,” Merlin said, rolling his Rs in a way that was new to his speech patterns. “Some say it's a tomb. Some that it's a monument.”

“And what do you say?”

Merlin didn't answer for the longest time. “It's just a place like any other, a peculiar one with its own properties and by-laws, I'll grant you that, but it's just an abandoned site.”

A rumble, a cross between distaste and disapproval, shook Kilgharrah's chest.

Silence fell between the three of them once more. Merlin leant back so that Arthur could no longer feel the warmth of him draped along his back and Kilgharrah silently veered southwards. And while the vegetation grew more luxuriant and inviting, the circumstances surrounding their flight proved to be less than.

From the tower of a castle, a cannonball was fired that was clearly aimed at Kilgharrah. It thankfully missed by a long shot, whistling past and causing no damage to anything that Arthur could see. Still, the idea that missiles were being launched at them wasn't a comforting one to Arthur. “What the hell?” he swore, forgetting the manners Father had worked hard to din into him.

“Oh, that's the King of Essetir's castle,” Merlin said, as if he was being fired at every day. “Cenred took a deep dislike to me when I stopped his band of mercenaries from attacking the poor villagers of Ealdor.”

The thought Merlin had tried to help some poor villagers warmed Arthur's heart just as much as the idea of him having acquired a bunch of enemies while doing so chilled him. Still he only voiced part of that thought, the one no one would disapprove of him for sharing. “You did well. You should always do your duty and defend the weak.”

“Cenred is a bully,” Merlin said, dismissive and angry. His voice softened when he added, “I didn't know you approved of that kind of stuff. I would have thought that...”

“What?” Arthur prompted.

“I don't know,” Merlin said. Arthur could feel Merlin's shoulder nudge his in a shrug. “You were all for science and rational fact, like many people who've come to Draakland before only to leave it behind. I thought you wouldn't believe in taking action if that doesn't benefit you.”

“You thought I was a merciless calculator?” Arthur asked, seeing where Merlin was going with his words. “That since I see sense I'd always be sensible and think only of self-preservation.”

“Arthur, I wouldn't go as far as--”

Arthur cut Merlin short. “I'll have you know that I believe in honour.” Perhaps Arthur had got that word from books describing chivalric deeds, but he did believe in those ideals. Besides, his father always went on and on about duty. Arthur liked to think that he knew how to apply this concept to more important stuff than learning his lessons and knowing when to fold when it came to obeying his father. Defending the weak was much more important than any school drill.

“I'm not like that,” Arthur continued, words crowding his brain and spilling out. “I believe in helping the weak and in doing charity and--”

“Arthur, I never implied you didn't,” Merlin said, squeezing his flank. “I just meant to say most earthlings don't believe in magical adventures. That it's what a bo-- a person like me should be doing.”

Their diatribe was curtailed by Kilgharrah landing with a crash and hop, his skidding lifting sand and earth in his wake. The fine globules clogged Arthur's throat, making him cough. Choking as he was, he wasn't likely to continue arguing.

And then a group of boys and girls came running towards them and Arthur let go of all thought of pursuing the subject.

He wanted to know who the new arrivals were.


	4. Chapter 4

Of the two boys who got to their landing place first, one was so big Arthur would have been at pains to define him as such if it weren't for his fresh faced looks. His chest was as wide as a small kitchen table and it looked as hard, if not harder. Tendons stuck out of his neck like cords and his arms had the circumference of trees. His eyes though did shine like those of any youth Arthur had ever come across however.

Compared to his comrade the other young man was shorter. He had long hair, flowing freely in a style that was no longer fashionable. He was old enough to be sporting some stubble and his eyes had a rakish expression. For all that he didn't seem much older than Arthur. In fact, Arthur gauged he was perhaps seventeen It was the ever present leer that lent him the illusion of looking older. When he saw that Merlin had come back from his trip to London the young man grinned from ear to ear.

Hopping off the dragon's back, Merlin went and hugged his two friends. “Percy,” he said, as the former smothered him in a powerful embrace. “So nice to get such a warm welcome back.” So saying, Merlin stepped out of Percy's giant arms only to be lifted off his feet by the second young man, “Gwaine, did you hold the fort for me?”

“Of course, Merlin,” Gwaine said, with a wink. “We led the younger ones to the cliff and told them to jump. They acted like young and confused ducklings.”

Though the imagery Gwaine had just conjured was appalling, Merlin only smiled and said, “Idiot.” 

Arthur cleared his throat.

Merlin turned around. “Gwaine, Percy,” he said, walking back to Arthur and putting a hand on his shoulder. “This is Arthur. Arthur is my new friend. He wanted to get a tour of Draakland.”

“Oh, then I'll introduce you to the dryads,” Gwaine said with a leer that Arthur knew well. He'd seen it on the faces of many of his school fellows whenever they described the girls of St Anne's, the young ladies boarding school neighbouring St Dominics. “That's one of the perks of this place.”

“Gwaine,” Percy said, “I hardly think that's the image of you you want to present to our new friend, not right off the bat.”

“I thought he ought to know. There's nothing wrong about that,” Gwaine said without losing his leer. “The dryads are heavenly creatures.”

“Actually, they're tree spirits,” Percy said, correcting his friend. 

Gwaine ruffled Percy's very short hair. “You're being sweetly literal now.”

As the two continued to trade back and forths, Merlin dimpled at Arthur. “Don't worry, they're always like that. They're our comic duo in a way, with Percy being the straight man. But if you seriously want to get to know the Dryads, I'll take you. Just keep in mind that they're very... Well, they belong to the forest and they're earth spirits, so you might find their way of thinking a little obscure at first.”

“I don't think I want to meet the Dryads just yet,” Arthur said, not thinking woodland creatures would be very interesting, not as much as Merlin anyway. “I want to see you do stuff.” He mimed magic. 

Before Merlin could answer, the rest of the boys and girls Arthur had sighted from on top of Kilgharrah's back joined them. It was a motley crew. Some members of it were as old as Arthur, averaging around sixteen or so. But some others were considerably younger. Arthur could spot bona fide children among them. They all had matching perky grins even though most wore rather raggedy clothes that most likely wouldn't do anything in case of temperature drops. (Arthur could also count quite a number of bare feet.) Arthur would have called that reason to be unhappy but this crowd didn't seem to view their lack of proper garments as a downer. “Hello,” they said, not so much in a chorus but rather a jumble of voices.

“Hi,” Arthur said, holding his palm up. “I'm Arthur.”

A volley of names hit his ears: among them he caught only a few. There was a Gilli and a Gwen, a Lancelot, and an Elyan. And then there were many more names hurled his way. Arthur wasn't sure he'd got them all just like he wasn't certain he'd remember those he'd heard. Not unless they were repeated time and again.

When the introductions were over and Kilgharrah had taken off again to take his nap, Merlin moved the gang away from the field and led them towards the forest.

Up ahead branches met and tangled, green shoots, leaves and flowers sprouting along their length. In some areas they formed arches that were as regular as any man-made tracery of arches. Thirty feet long vines spread from trunks, cascading outwards with a graceful bend, like enormous plumes of feathers.

Underfoot the ground was soft, like a plush carpet that was redolent of eternal spring. The air itself smelled fresh and pure. The place was more beautiful than any Arthur had seen before, yet he couldn't quite content himself with enjoying it without being aware of their goal. “Where are we going?” he asked Merlin, while repeatedly stretching his neck to see where the track ended. 

“Oh, to our camp,” Merlin said, as he led the way. “It's not too far away and we can give you a proper reception there.”

“You have a camp?” Arthur's thoughts ran to tales of the army. “A real one?”

“Not exactly. It's where we all gather.” Merlin answered. “The cave where I sleep is only a stone's throw away.”

“As is my tree,” said Gilli, sounding rather proud of having something in common with Merlin, be it the location of his sleeping quarters.

“He likes sleeping on a low branch,” Merlin explained in an undertone. “Says it gives him a bird's eye view of the camp, allowing him to protect us, so that it's safe from wyverns.”

“What are wyverns?” Arthur asked, some misgiving animating him. That name sounded ominous.

“Mini dragons,” Gwaine answered in Merlin's stead. “With wings. They're pretty good at barbecuing people.”

Arthur swallowed. At first he'd taken Gwaine's words lightly but when he realised that Gwaine was serious about the creatures being dangerous he felt his stomach clench the slightest little bit. “I thought dragons were nearly extinct.”

“These ones are far relatives,” Merlin said, pushing branches aside to make way. “And they're much smaller.”

“But they can sweep and dive much quicker than dragons,” Gwaine said, sticking his tongue out, evidently loving teasing Arthur

“Gwaine try and stop scaring the visitor,” Merlin said, sounding both annoyed and as though he knew Gwaine would be acting like that.

Percival clocked Gwaine one on the head “Merlin's right.”

“Oi,” Gwaine said, massaging the smarting body part. “I was just yanking the visitor's chain.”

Sunlight filtered down through the leafy canopy and reached the ground. Then the trees thinned and a clearing opened up. It was round and huge. At the opposite end if a cave opened, fairy lights dancing before the entrance. They shone with every colour of the rainbow and many more, thousands perhaps, most of which Arthur couldn't name or define. 

Before taking in the rest of the scene, he just gaped at the show.

Grass was short and green in the clearing, like a carpet created on purpose to cushion the fall of feet. Boulders were gathered in a semi circle around a doused camp-fire, providing useful seats.

“This is what we call the Round Clearing,” Merlin said, striding towards the rests of the camp-fire and lighting the fire with a pass of his hand. “This is where we dine and dance and gather.”

Arthur was still a little too preoccupied with Merlin having lit a fire with the power of his magic to say anything that made much sense. At last he committed to saying, “I see,” because it seemed pertinent enough while not requiring much brain power.

“How about using this place the way it's meant to and we start eating then?” Gwaine suggested, sprawling on one of those boulders.

“Gwaine, there's still daylight,” Percival pointed out. “It's too early for dinner.”

“And you ate two hours ago,” Gwen told Gwaine, crossing her arms. “I'm not cooking for you again. Unless you make your meal yourself. Actually, I've been patient with but you've been skipping your turn cooking too many times. It's high time you became more responsible.”

“Dear mum,” Gwaine said, his eyebrows climbing. “Merlin here can magic us a feast. There's hardly any need for me to get my hands dirty. And as for it not being dinner time.” Gwaine hefted his shoulders. “Merlin can make it dark.”

“That's cheating,” Gwen pointed out, tapping her foot.

“And I don't like to mess with the rhythms of the land,” Merlin said, agreeing with Gwen, minus the foot action.

Arthur's stomach rumbled right at that moment, taking part in the discussion, so to speak. At home it would have been well past midnight at this point. Now Arthur tended to get an appetite at that hour. At school his penchant for midnight snacks was rarely satisfied since he had to abide by the rules – although memorably he and Lamorak had once stolen into the school's kitchens and pilfered a vast amount of edibles – which stipulated that students would only eat at pre-ordained hours. But now that the summer had started, his body was adapting to Pendragon home rules. Those were much laxer. This new habit had made Arthur willing to indulge in after dinner treats. 

“I suppose I could at least magic up some food,” Merlin said, in concession to the claims of Arthur's stomach.

“Magic up sugar canes,” one of the smallest children said.

“No, I want licorice babies,” another one asked.

“How about buttermilk biscuits?”

“Children,” Gwen said, gently chiding them, I hardly think that's good food for your teeth.”

“But Merlin can magic them better too.”

Merlin smiled at the young ones and said, “How about we let Arthur decide?” Merlin shared a complicit glance with him, one begging him not to indulge the little ones.

Not having much of a sweet tooth left at his age, Arthur could readily comply. “How about cucumber sandwiches?”

The kids who had suggested sweets made faces, but Merlin's smile was a thank you.

With a big hand flourish, Merlin cast a spell, and trays appeared. They floated mid air. Arthur counted at least ten. Sandwiches were stacked upon them in little pyramids. Cucumber slices were both inside the piles of bread and lying at their sides as garnish. When the trays settled in their hands, little tables were conjured, each one placed in front of a boulder seat. On the tables set tea pots and cups. They were all mismatched, the patterns clashing. Some sported flowers while some were overrun by geometrical shapes. A few had a dainty silver rim and there was one that was all made of gold. 

It floated Arthur's way, full of tea. 

“Fell free to tell the jug your choices.”

“I beg your pardon?” Arthur said, as he grabbed the hovering cup before it floated off like it seemed it wanted to. 

“The jug will do your bidding,” Merlin explained, sitting in one of the boulder seats. It was hollowed out to suit his body shape. “And pour you milk if you want. Same goes for the sugar bowl.”

After having placed his tray and cup on the impromptu table Merlin had conjured, Arthur sat down next to Merlin. “Okay, all right, I'd love to have a dash of milk in my tea and one teaspoon of sugar.”

Milk jug and bowl responded. A teaspoon flew right into the bowl, sank into a mound of sugar and poured its contents in Arthur's tea. The milk jug tipped to the side, allowing a lick of milk to land in Arthur's cup.

When Arthur's tea was how Arthur liked it, a harp appeared and it... played itself. To the sounds of some lovely ethereal music, they started on their 'dinner'. 

One of the girls was appointed entertainer and she started telling a story of bards and magic.

For a while Arthur just munched on quietly, but once he'd ploughed into his second sandwich, he wasn't so hungry anymore. So he tilted his head at Merlin and said, “So how come they're all here?” Arthur's gaze encompassed Merlin's merry band. “It's clear they're not all visiting like me.”

Putting his food down, Merlin nodded. “They're not. Unlike you they have no place to go back to.”

“How come?”Arthur asked.

“Most of them are orphans,” Merlin said, his gaze enfolding the group. “Lost their mothers and fathers. Had nowhere to go. So they wished upon a star... If that happened to be Draco... they got here.”

“What about those who aren't orphans?”

“They were abandoned.” A shadow crossed Merlin's face, darkening his eyes and thinning his mouth.

“I'm so sorry,” Arthur said, thinking of the loss of his mother. Whether you'd lost a parent to death or to some other cause the outcome couldn't be pleasant. Everyone should be spared that kind of suffering. “What about you?”

“Something like that goes for me as well,” he said. Immediately after he had he turned to admonish the greediest child. He'd appropriated five sandwiches all to himself and left none for little Gisla. 

“But you can make more,” the child said, cheeks round with food that was still unchewed.

“That's not the point,” said Merlin arching an eyebrow and nodding his head at Gisla. 

“Oh,” the boy said. “I see. I should perhaps...” He offered one of his sandwiches to the girl.

Merlin smiled and his brow cleared of the line that had come upon it.

Though the telling off incident had been part of the natural progression of the evening events and not dictated by Merlin at all, Arthur sensed that Merlin wasn't keen on confiding the truth of his past to him. So he stopped asking questions and turned his attention to the evening's entertainment. After the music, they had songs that weren't only instrumental, and after the songs fireworks lit the heavens. 

The sky had turned purple by then, and the effect was superb. It was a pity that most of the assembly that had gathered in the clearing couldn't see it. Since it was getting late, most of the children had, in fact, gone to sleep. Thus they'd been deprived of the spectacle. Gwen and Elyan had helped the small ones to their sleeping places. Apparently there were little wooden shacks scattered around the forest and these were their dwellings. Each one was occupied by at least five children. And thence they directed their steps.

Some of the adults absented themselves too. Percival said he'd go to the lake for a wash before bed and Gwaine, now sated, just crossed his arms on his chest; hands tucked under his arms he started snoring.

This way Merlin and Arthur were left to themselves, to enjoy each other's company. “Well, since it's too late for it anyway and you've had quite a few adventures already, I suggest we call it a day. Tomorrow I'll take you exploring. I'll show you the Butterfly Field and the Valley of Fallen Kings.”

“Tomorrow,” Arthur said, his gaze drifting. 

“Don't worry,” Merlin said, placing his hand on top of his. “I told you I can make it so you can get back home just a minute or so after you've left. Nobody will notice your absence ever.”

Arthur's smile stretched. This meant he could have his summer adventure all the same and while doing so he could have more time with Merlin. Despite being odd, Merlin was after all a little bit interesting, not much, mind you, but a little, and this made the prospect enticing.

Thinking of what other adventures they could have beside the trips Merlin had already mentioned, Arthur asked, “How about giants? Do you have any of those here?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, his nose wrinkling like an orange peel. “You don't want to meet them though. They're aggressive and stink.”

“I thought only trolls did.”

“We have those too here,” Merlin said, lip curling in disgust, “if you're into that.”

“Ew,” Arthur said and they both laughed.

Once they had a solid plan for the morning, one that seemed properly exciting, Arthur said, “So where do I sleep?”

“Oh.” Merlin lowered his head, his unruly hair falling forward. “I thought we could share.”

Arthur should have been used to the concept. During most of the year he shared sleeping quarters with other people on a regular basis. He was accustomed to dozing off to snoring roomies and could even ignore sleepwalking ones. But Merlin's offer tied his stomach up in tight little knots. “I-um--”

“I can build you a shack of your own, if you'd rather not.”

“Oh not you don't have to,” Arthur said, ever so well-mannered, his politeness an exercise in distraction from the fluttering going on in his belly. (Maybe that was his digestion. Perhaps the cucumbers just hadn't agreed with him.) “I'll be happy to share.”

“Are you sure?” Merlin asked, craning his head and sounding as though he himself wasn't certain of Arthur's veracity.

Arthur bobbed his head. “Positive.”

Merlin cracked a smile, then clapped him on the back. “In which case, come and I'll show you my humble abode.”


	5. The Butterfly Field

Blue light coalesced into white. Ether diamonds sparkled in the air like beacons, bubbles of brightness. Dew clung to phosphorescent stalactites, pearls of it forming a corollary of beads at the tip. The air shimmered with soft colours that rainbowed brightly.

Arthur was sure he was still dreaming. This kind of beauty didn't belong to waking hours so he was fully convinced he was enveloped in a night-time world until he heard someone curse under their breath. More noises came from his left and these were so mundane Arthur was sure his fancy hadn't conjured them. Nothing so prosaic fit the world of the imagination. He immediately recognised Merlin's voice anyway. After a few seconds observation Arthur deduced that Merlin had stubbed his toe. He was, after all, holding onto his foot and jumping around.

“For someone with your powers you're quite clumsy,” Arthur said, as he stretched in his bedroll.

Looking for all the world like a headless chicken heedlessly careening this way and that, Merlin hopped round on one foot. “Ha, ha, I could have made it very bright in here and avoided bumping into that piece of rock there, but I wanted to let you sleep, so I kept it dark. The rest is history but thank you for not appreciating how considerate I was.”

“You might be polite,” Arthur said, not taking back his previous comment, “but you're still clumsy, oh magic man.”

Merlin scowled. “Umpf.”

He only stopped when Arthur asked, “So what are we doing today?”

“We'll start with the butterfly field,” Merlin said, bending over to wash his face. Water came from a spring that found its source in an opening in the rock face. “And then we'll go with the flow.”

After their morning ablutions, Merlin and Arthur set off for the butterfly field. They had bundles of food and water skins with them. Merlin even picked up a branch from the forest floor and used it as a walking stick. In short, they had everything they might need for a day long outing. Arthur was reminded of being on holiday, minus his father's strict planning and his former nannies busy bustling about.

“Can't you summon Kilgharrah so he can fly us there?” Arthur asked, as he picked his way through the rock strewn path.

“Kilgharrah is really old, so I'd rather not bother him for this,” Merlin said, making way for them. “And the butterfly field is best experienced while travelling on foot.”

Arthur detected a note of sadness in Merlin's voice at the mention of his friend's senility. “You do love that dragon, don't you?” he asked.

Merlin shrugged. “He's grumpy and loud and never gives you a straight answer, but he's also a wonder of nature.”

“You seem to have a complicated relationship with him,” Arthur observed, walking behind Merlin, letting him create openings in the foliage. Instead of using a sword or scythe, Merlin employed his magic to clear a path. 

“It goes deep,” Merlin said, his voice lower, so much so that it plummeted into a little vibrato whisper. “Very much so. Oh, that vine's blocking the way,” Merlin added, pointing at the hindrance. “We should walk round it.”

Arthur could recognise a deflection when he saw one and this was one. He took it to mean that Merlin wasn't ready to share all his secrets yet. For all that Merlin seemed so open and bubbly, he kept his own counsel often. Arthur let it be. Maybe if he got to know Merlin and this place better, he would find out about all those aspects of him that made him curious. 

As for now he would enjoy the walk and the company. The air here was much fresher than in London, purer, and that alone was pleasant. It was even better than at boarding school, for while St Domincs was in the country, the area was populated and and the environment not so unpolluted as one might have thought going by location alone.

When they walked into the butterfly field a true marvel became visible. The path he and Merlin had been following wound through the forest and spat them out onto a meadow. And what a one. At first this meadow seemed to be carpeted with flowers. An expanse of blue and gold and purple opened itself up to the eyes. It was only when this 'carpet' heaved that Arthur realised he wasn't just looking at flora, but at living, breathing organisms. 

“Butterflies,” he said, in awe as he watched the little insects librate themselves on a gentle breeze. “Now I see why this place is called the butterfly field.”

“It's beautiful, isn't it?”

Arthur didn't have much of a poetic soul, he didn't think. Uther had taught him to be a practical person, but it would take a harder man than him to quash all enthusiasm for what he was seeing. The wings of those butterflies bore more colours than Arthur knew how to name. Shades merged and converged, clashed and fused in whorls and dots and little stripes. The tissue that went into making the butterflies' wings looked like gossamer or gauze, light and translucent.

When a butterfly landed on his knuckles, its antennae twitching, Arthur laughed out loud. “Wow, this place is a thousand times better than Bors' country house.”

“What's a Bors?” Merlin said, wearing the most ridiculous little frown ever.

Arthur chuckled. “Bors is a school mate of mine.”

“School.” Merlin turned up his nose at the mere mention of school. “I can't say I like that very much.”

“But that's for your future,” Arthur said, repeating words his father had often told him. “So you can learn important subjects you'll use in your career.”

“You don't need that here.” Merlin locked his hands together so they formed a cradle of sorts. When he unfolded them, a new butterfly flew free. “Here all you need to feel is the pulse of magic. That's all you ever need learn.”

Arthur blinked. “Did you just--” He made air gestures. “Create that? Did you just make a butterfly?”

“More or less?” Divots appeared in Merlin's cheeks.

“More or less?” Arthur said, incredulous Merlin would be so nonchalant about such a big thing as creating life. “Did you just breathe life into it, there and then?”

“I think so.”

“Is that butterfly--” The butterfly in question landed on a flower chalice. “--going to live, independently of you?”

“Yes.” Merlin nodded, his brows knitting. “Of course it is.”

“Then you just _did_ create life.”

“It's a little thing, Arthur,” Merlin said, stretching his hands wide. “An ordinary thing. I do that whenever I want. What really matters though is that I can, that magic here is free.”

There was something about the way Merlin said that that made Arthur think that maybe at one time it hadn't been. But Arthur couldn't see how this was possible since, aside from Cenred, nobody seemed to oppose Merlin's decisions here. He was almost... Draakland's leader. “All right, I get that,” Arthur said, breathless both with the beauty of the place and the power Merlin casually displayed. “Show me more.”

Merlin spent the afternoon doing tricks for Arthur. And they weren't parlour ones, like those Arthur had seen before at magic shows or during a long winter evenings at someone's home. They were beautiful displays of a power that was unleashed to create beauty. 

Merlin made shapes in the air and those shapes became little buildings. A castle was born of thin air, complete with turrets and a moat. The bridge was lowered and little cloud knights rode the length of it, mist pennants unfurled as though the wind was playing with them.

It was better than the theatre, better than a book. Knights of air and water treading on air.

“Enact a battle,” Arthur said, wanting to see scenes similar to those he'd read of in fiction. “With knights on horseback and rival armies.”

“Easy,” Merlin said and with a little swirl of his fingers tiny horses took form. Little knights rode them, spurring them forward against the flanks of a phantom enemy army. Nobody died, but swords clashed and mounts reared. “There.”

“This is brilliant!” Arthur said, even though, as the show progressed, he focused more and more on Merlin and the play of magic on his irises than the, admittedly lovely, spectacle.

And the more he watched, the less Arthur could take his eyes off Merlin.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day Merlin took him to the Valley of the Fallen Kings. The forest floor was carpeted with leaves and trees shot up either side of the track, their trunks slender, branches and leaves shooting out high up, like lances breaching the sky.

Down on the ground, walls of rock narrowed the path. Their colour was a deep ochre that at times appeared red. The more the gulley narrowed, the less sunlight crept in, the more the slabs of stone looked carmine. 

“Eerie,” Arthur said, as mulch and dry leaves cracked under foot and sucked his soles in.

“What till you see the kings,” Merlin said, pointing at the road ahead, at the point where it narrowed.

Shortly afterwards they came, as announced, upon a range of statues, guarding the opening to a wider second path. They represented rulers. Stone crowns sat on their heads. These kings held their swords at the ready as if about to do battle. Their stance was that of ominous guardians. “What were they kings of?” Arthur asked, plodding forward until he could reach out and touch the base of one of the statues, where the foot started, tendons and muscles sculpted with life-lie precision. “When did they rule?”

“Oh, never,” Merlin said, sitting on top of the stone base and undoing the bundle containing their breakfast food. “There never were kings in Draakland, not proper ones..”

Arthur tilted his head back to study the statues looming over them. “How do you know? I mean they would go way, way back.”

Bundle spread out at his feet, Merlin picked up an apple. “I just know,” he said with a shoulder shrug.

“So there's never been kings but someone went and sculpted their likenesses?” Arthur asked, sitting next to Merlin and picking candied orange slices for himself. “How come?”

“Nobody sculpted these though,” Merlin says around a mouthful of apple. "End of."

“I'm sorry,” Arthur said, after having swallowed his own morsel rather too quickly. “What are you trying to say? It makes absolutely no sense.”

“My magic made them.” Merlin patted the statue's calf. “I think they came out rather well.”

“You-- these-- you--” Arthur spluttered, perfectly aware he was making less sense than Merlin had saying no sculptor had fashioned the statues. 

“I made them.” Merlin bobbed his head. “Well, not in the proper artistic way, with labour, sweat, and massive doses of inspiration, but I did create them with my powers. They were a nice touch, I think.”

“Yes, very impressive.”

Merlin's face scrunched up in a sea of laughter lines Arthur thought becoming. “You're right,” Merlin said between a snort and the next, the juice of the apple he'd eaten causing his lips to shine. “I'm pretty proud of my achievement here.”

“Ah, Merlin,” Arthur said, laughter breaking his voice, a pang of something doing the same by his heart. “You're quite something else.”


	7. Chapter 7

The waters of the lake shimmered like the surface of a mirror and sparkled with an intense glow that seemed to come from its depths. Lush vegetation curled down the slopes that led to the depression that formed the basin. Under the horizon, grey clouds and an indigo sky shone with a purity reflected by the wide tarn.

Arthur had never seen the likes of this before. But that was not what he said. What he said was, “So you took me here to see your girlfriend.”

Merlin did a double take. “Girlfriend? What girlfriend?”

“You said there was a lady in the lake.” Arthur nodded his head at the expanse of water before them. “So I reckoned she was your girlfriend.” Some of the boys at Arthur's school had one and Mathers, who was the son of a lord, was already engaged to be married to his American cousin. They would wed once school was over. Arthur knew about girlfriends. He was just glad Father hadn't broached the topic of him getting one yet. “It makes sense.”

“You're really strange,” Merlin said, giving his head a tilt. “Really, really strange.”

“It's not strange,” Arthur said, the protest quick on his lips. “People have sweethearts.” 

Merlin knelt down and picked up a pebble, which he rolled into his palm. “Not me.”

“Why?” Arthur asked. If Bors could get sweet with the girls from St Anne – and Bors had no finesse – then Merlin, who was fun, had a brilliant smile and certainly was less crass than Arthur's school chum, could certainly get one. 

Merlin stood again, his fist clenched around the pebble. “I don't know.” His shoulders came up to his ears. “Who would like me that way?” 

Arthur's ears burned.

“And I never think about that anyway,” Merlin said, biting into the softness of his lip. “And now I'll summon Freya.”

Merlin threw the pebble, which skipped on the surface at least twenty times. Arthur knew Merlin had to have been aided by magic to achieve that effect, but he was still prickled by a modicum of jealousy when he saw him do that. 

The ripples the pebble gave rise to widened and widened till they marred the entire surface of the lake. A breeze rose that messed with Arthur's hair. Arthur was flattening it to his scalp, when body parts started emerging from the water, an arm first.

“Now that's an entrance,” Arthur said, once the lady Merlin had summoned had appeared. “More theatrical that an actor's at a panto.”

“Freya has command over the elements around the lake,” Merlin said, with a proud grin. “That's why she could dazzle you.”

Arthur couldn't say that she wasn't making an impression. She was, in fact, walking on the lake's speckled surface, her robe, of a heavy blue and purple, trailing after her in the manner of a proper dress train of the kind you only saw at court these days. It wasn't the littlest bit wet. 

“Hello, Merlin,” Freya said, her lips curving at the sides. “It's been a while. Where have you been?”

“Here and there,” Merlin said, with a sheepish grin. “The kids needed me and--” He took a step back so as to be able to place a hand on Arthur's shoulder. “And I answered his summons.”

Arthur smiled at Freya but protested at Merlin's word. “I told you, I didn't summon you,” he said, specifying that little detail yet again. “I was having a read in my bed and you just popped up.”

“That's what Merlin does,” Freya said with a slow nod. “When a young person's soul thirsts for magic, he comes.”

Arthur's head snapped towards Merlin. “You...”

“I could sense you from where I was lying in the Crystal Cave,” Merlin said. “I could feel you like I'd never felt anyone before.”

“I-- you-- really?” Arthur asked, his soul jumping inside him, as if it wanted to escape from the confines of his body. 

“Yes.” Merlin looked away, to the far horizon, which was lit silver. “I can feel you deep in my bones. That night most specially.”

Arthur too felt the urge to tear his eyes away. Silence fell between them. 

It was only mediated by Freya. “I suppose I should show Arthur some of the lake's finer qualities,” she said, lifting her hand and waving her open unblemished palm about.

As she did bubbles formed and floated on the air. They were made of water but inside little lights shone bright. If Arthur squinted, he could see algae and little flowers trapped inside. Each bubble contained a different object and Arthur peered and peered till he had made out most.

Next, Freya levitated droplets of water. They took different shapes, some of them human, some of them animal. They enacted scenes like puppets in a pantomime. Arthur was entertained, the show was unlike anything he'd ever beheld before, but his gaze nevertheless stole to Merlin from time to time. He didn't know why he did it, it was more subconscious than anything else, but Arthur felt some sort of compulsion to do so. Merlin's distracted, nervous features were the true north of Arthur's attention.

The more he looked, the more a fundamental change took place in him. His heart tripped like the pebble Merlin had lobbed at the water to summon Freya. Like butterflies swinging their wings upwards, it lurched. It hurt and it didn't. He wanted to palm his chest to stop the frantic beat and revel in it, count himself lucky he could feel so alive, as if he could lift the sky and run in circles in big marathon strides and never ever tire.

Arthur's pulse only evened out when Merlin smiled at the last of Freya’s conjurations, a rearing dragon made of condensation. 

“That was a message from a common friend,” Freya said to Merlin. Then to Arthur she said, “I hope you enjoyed the simple pastimes I could entertain you with.”

Because it felt as though he was living in a fairytale, Arthur bowed to Freya. “I did, and thank you.”

Freya's face shone with demure kindness. “Anything for a friend of Merlin's.”

Over the next few days they explored more of Draakland. The places Merlin took him to where one more wonderful than the other. In a short span of time Arthur saw wonders he hadn't thought he'd see given a lifetime of opportunity. While thinking of his future Arthur had always believed he'd go to university, maybe travel a little bit afterwards, and that he'd subsequently take his place at his father's firm. Never had he pictured himself seeing marvels like the Sea of Treacle (perfectly edible), the cliffs of Gawant (towering high), and the Labyrinth of Gedref (puzzling to the utmost).

“Did you create this one too?” Arthur asked as he followed Merlin into its depths, walls of foliage looming close so that they couldn't see where they were going. They were breathing green breaths, the secret lungs of the plants lush around them ghosting breezes on Arthur's nape that smelled like mint and lemon grass. 

“Why do you want to know?” Merlin asked, as he peeked this way and that to decide which way to go.

“Because I want to find out if you can get us of of here?”

Merlin scratched at the base of his neck. “Mmm, not really. I thought we'd find out together.”

“So basically you got us into a labyrinth and you have no idea how to find the exit.”

“Well, no.” Merlin's toothy grin expanded into a wider one. “I thought we might have fun exploring the options.”

“Not exactly my idea of fun.” Arthur liked plans. But even so he wasn't being entirely truthful here. A secret thrill played low in his belly. He didn't know why he was making such a fuss about following Merlin. He'd follow him blindly, everywhere. Merlin would just have to smile and point and Arthur would likely go after him. He guessed the pinprick of his opposition rose at times just becausee just liked watching Merlin's reactions unfold.

“Fie, you have no sense of adventure.”

“I beg your pardon!” Arthur said, stepping ahead to choose the path they'd tread. “I have a wondrous sense of adventure. I am like a knight errant. I am the king of adventure.” Arthur took big strides in the direction that most appealed to him. He wasn't sure it was the right one but in that moment he felt daring. It just took his fancy.

“Arthur, wait for me!” Merlin called out once Arthur had put some distance between them.

They wandered the maze for hours. One by one they took each turn there was and attempted to be methodical about ticking off the ones they'd already trodden. Most paths flowed into a dead end and others set them back, getting them not far off the gates, but with no way to reach them because walls of thorny bushes separated them from the way out. Knowing the position of the sun wasn't much help because the soon lost all sense of direction. They probably travelled in circles a lot, Arthur was sure, but they sill ploughed on. 

A sense of potential, a feeling like being unbeatable, bloomed in Arthur, so he didn't much worry about anything like not making it or being trapped endlessly wandering. He was certain that would never happen, that their happy ending was just a stone's throw away, beyond a turn of the road they couldn't glimpse yet.

Still, he liked yanking Merlin's chain, making him sweat for Arthur's recognition.

“Do you at least know what's on the other side?” Arthur asked, riding that feeling, a willingness to tease welling inside him.

“Yes.” Merlin craned his neck so he could peek round the corner. “It's something worthy of our time believe me.”

Arthur rolled his sleeves up. “Well, then,” he said, the world opening up before him even though he couldn't yet see the road that led to this new big adventure. “Let's get there.”

“I could use my magic and cheat?” Merlin suggested at one point.

“No, you can't cheat.” Arthur pursed his lips in distaste. “It's not right.”

“We would get there quicker,” Merlin said with a careless lift of his shoulders.

“No, that's neither fair nor honourable,” Arthur said, wanting to get to the promised treat but without violating the rules at the base of their game.

Even without the use of Merlin's magic they cleared the labyrinth at last and wound up on a beach that extended itself for miles both eastwards and westwards. Waves lapped at the shore, tickling the water's edge, dark grains of sand glistening almost black when the water retreated. 

The sun touched the horizon line, colouring it with a glow that was positively golden. It turned the world bright with rich hues that lay on the atmosphere like gauze strands, gossamer light. You could almost breathe them in, those tints.

Souls could expand here. Bodies didn't just feel like bodies, but like vessels made to take in the beauty at their feet. The sensory overload was almost shocking to Arthur, who was used to the flat ordinariness of home and school.

The smell of salt in his nostrils made Arthur heady. Warm air blew on his body. It cocooned his limbs. Arthur stripped off his shirt and trousers. Standing naked, buffeted by the wind made him experience the power hidden in his body. “Race you,” he shouted, even though he'd just started running towards the waterline.

“Now that's unfair!” Merlin called after him, his feet thundering over the sand as he sped up in Arthur's wake.

Before wading in, Arthur paused and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. As Merlin caught up with him, Arthur leaned into the embrace of the ocean— allowing it to lure him onwards and hold him like a mother cradling her child. The rush of water filled his ears, chilled him and sped up his bloodstream. Feeling the urge to look sideways, Arthur shared a wink with Merlin.

In his bid to go for a swim, Merlin had divested himself of all his clothes. He stood gazing out at the ocean, his shoulders thrown back. His skin was as pale as that of any London boy who didn't see much of the sun all year round and he was as lean as any urchin playing on its street.

Though he shouldn't have peered, Arthur did. With a quick glance, he studied Merlin to get a glimpse of everything he was. He didn't know why he was doing it and didn't care to wonder. He only felt he needed to, that in reading Merlin's skin like a map he'd find out about the secrets that lay at the core of him. Heat rising to his face, he let his gaze linger one moment longer, a moment that grew bigger and bigger until it swallowed him whole, until observation became a stored fact, a path of his memory.

Merlin was built like a scarecrow, a motley of spare parts haphazardly thrown together, bones like a bird's, a crooked little smile that lit up his eyes, laugh lines that crumpled his skin like parchment, when, like now, he smiled. 

Arthur liked what he saw. His heart bumped painfully in his chest. Because he thought it would tear down at the seams, he stopped taking Merlin in. Instead, he let his gaze rove over to the horizon, the thin wisps of cloud like ghosts hovering over the flat line that parted sea and sky. “Ready?” he said, breathless, sure that his voice would never come out steady again.

Merlin didn't say anything but they both bridged the distance between themselves and the sea at launched themselves at the rollers that crashed towards the shore, tasting salt on their lips, cold water fingers lapping at his legs, and chest before he dove right into the depths ahead of him. The smell of the ocean made Arthur dizzy. The shock coming with the change of temperature quickened his blood, woke him up to a sense of heightened reality wherin everything sped by fast, as quick as his loud feelings.

For the better part of an hour they swam, sometimes out to sea, and sometimes in circles around each other. They dove off the shoals they crawled to. They did so repeatedly, like seals having their fun or seagulls swooping in for their lunch.

They lay belly up on on an islet that rose a little off the coastline, then waded back in the foam again, floating on their backs, letting the currents wash them adrift, cool channels swirling past their bodies in blocks that felt like ice.

When the sun went down and the water got colder, they hastened back to shore. Arthur's muscles were loose with the strain, but heavy too, undone and lax both. In this condition he took a few steps and then crumpled on the foreshore, his legs and arms spread out like the limbs of a star fish.

As big gulps of air escaped his ribcage, his chest rose and fell. 

With a big wet sigh, Merlin lay down next to him, occupying much less space. One armed, he hugged himself, one of his feet flat on the sand hollowing out under its weight, his knee bent, describing an arc that had a graceful quality about it, like Greek statuary.

Once again Arthur gazed at him, only this time he felt like there was something forbidden about what he was doing. The notion scalded his fingertips and stained his cheeks. He craned his neck a notch, cheek grazing the coarse grains of sand, stinging, and took Merlin in, breathing him from his wet strands of air that tangled like seaweed in an eddy to the crease of his armpit, fresh with sea brine.

In that moment Arthur became aware of wanting things he'd never known he'd find himself wishing for, things he'd pushed down deep within himself, hiding them from his own consciousness. These where the truths that lurked deep withing him whenever his body acted out and let him know that he did indeed have desires. 

He wondered if Merlin tasted like the sea. He found himself wishing he could find out, that he could roll onto his side and touch his mouth to Merlin's, covering his lips with his to establish whether they retained a salty patina or wtheter they were just tasteless and cold. 

In his mind's eye he saw himself splaying a hand on Merlin's chest to catch at the trail of droplets that dewed his torso and meandered down to his belly, stopping short at the rise of a hip, above his quiescent cock. In its investigation, Arthur's palm would maybe cover Merlin's heart and detect a heartbeat.

Would that heartbeat be beating irregularly, like a skipping stone impacting the ground at close intervals? Would it be behaving like Arthur's own was doing right this minute, clogging up his throat so he could taste his pulse on the tip of his tongue?

Would Merlin come if Arthur pulled him to him? What would happen if Arthur scored his lips down Merlin's cheeks and neck, down his shoulders? What would happen if they did away with all barriers and their naked bodies merged, differences and similarities highlighted by a close embrace of limbs?

No sooner had Arthur finished asking himself this than Merlin flipped onto his side, a smile on his face, his eyes raking Arthur's, his warm, lightly scented breath on Arthur's lips. 

Arthur's whole body tightened with expectation, his hand curling in the sand, raking up a mound of it, wet and sandpapery. Thick nodules of it slipping under his nails, encrusting them.

Arthur's body tightened all over, his leg curling to cover his fattening penis.

Merlin broke the spell and said, “It's getting late. Better go back to camp.”

Arthur fetched a sigh. “In a minute,” he answered. “In a minute.”


End file.
